


One Wall Apart, A Knock Away

by redheadlady



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Atsumu as Guitarist because I say so, F/M, Fluff, Given reference because I love Gusari
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:49:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26230684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redheadlady/pseuds/redheadlady
Summary: Here's a list of things Yachi knows about her next-door neighbor:1. He's tall, blond, and straight-up gorgeous2. He's a talented guitarist3. His favorite song is Mardy Bum by Arctic Monkey.The wall of their apartment isn't paper-thin, but it isn’t soundproof enough to block the noise of his guitar session. Yachi figures she doesn’t mind since she normally finds herself dancing along with the tune anyway. Until one day when his songs become sadder and sadder to the point where he plays a sorrowful theme song from some BL anime for two goddamn hours.Yachi eventually decides it's the time to knock on his door.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Yachi Hitoka
Comments: 23
Kudos: 95





	One Wall Apart, A Knock Away

**Author's Note:**

> Writing about Atsumu and Yachi? This is totally my galaxy brain moving.

There aren’t many things Yachi knows about her next-door neighbor. Aside from the casual greetings they exchange upon stumbling across each other, they don’t talk – not that they have any topic to chatter about anyway. She has heard about how private and reserved the people in the urban area are, and here in Tokyo, everyone is _maverick_. Strangers’ businesses aren’t something to bat an eyelid on.

As a provincial girl migrating to the city, Yachi is still adjusting to this normal. Specifically, to pay less heed on her next-door neighbor despite her inborn curiosity and her proficient observation skill. It is _indeed_ rude to learn about someone without them knowing and a stalker is the last reputation she wishes to be labeled with. Even so, she can’t help but catch sight of him when he enters her field of vision and overhears his voice that leaks through the wall between their studio-typed rooms.

His name is Atsumu.

His surname is Miya, but he once told her to call him ‘Atsumu’ since he has a twin brother that visits often and it apparently would be confusing since both of them are ‘Miyas’. At first, Yachi addressed him as Atsumu-kun because she thought they were the same age. It soon turned out that Atsumu is two-years older, yet Yachi has implanted the habit of calling him ‘Atsumu-kun’ and it’s slightly too late to revise it.

Here are a few things Yachi can tell you about Atsumu.

Tall and blond and straight-up gorgeous – the kind that triggers the time to slow down as your gaze follows his back when he passes by. His friends flock around him, all attractive as well. Periodically, they spend the night in his room because they linger there until the last train’s departure. Yachi guesses they’re in a band as a couple of them carry what appears to be guitar cases.

Atsumu also plays guitar, the electric ones. Yachi is green in music – not to mention westerner kind of music – yet she can tell how talented Atsumu is. He plays guitar at night nearly every day; _nearly_ , at least to Yachi’s knowledge, because sometimes he doesn’t come back to his room, which means he’s probably playing his guitar _somewhere else_.

The wall of their apartment isn’t paper-thin, but it isn’t soundproof enough to block the hum and muffled strums of his guitar when it’s plugged to an amplifier. Yachi figures she doesn’t mind since she usually finds herself dancing along with the tune. Sometimes, it sounds like he’s practicing; other times, it sounds like he’s just relieving his stress. One of these days, it sounds like he’s composing his own music because Siri can’t identify what song he’s playing.

In addition, his favorite song is Mardy Bum by Arctic Monkey because that’s the song he plays the most.

That’s more or less all the things Yachi can tell you about her next-door neighbor. Things that hard to disregard as she tries her best not to breach into his privacy.

Nevertheless, when you live one wall apart, it’s hard not to notice things.

*

Once upon a silent night, a loud crash startles Yachi. Intuitively, she swivels her desk chair towards the wall that separates her room and Atsumu’s, gawking intently as though the structure will grow transparent if she stares hard enough. At the same time, her ears manage to discern two voices, one of which is Atsumu’s.

The room dampens their conversation, but from the intonation, it’s obvious how both of them are in the middle of a quarrel. Yachi hurriedly peels her gaze off the wall and swivels back to her desk. Must not listen, she scolds herself, whatever happens in Atsumu’s room, stays in Atsumu’s room.

When she’s about to wear her earphones, somebody screams: “Why can’t you understand?!”

To that, somebody else (Atsumu himself) screams back: “Then tell me what I don’t understand?!”

“It should’ve been obvious, isn’t it! You don’t get it because all you ever think it’s about yourself!”

“How am I thinking about myself when what I do is literally for you!”

“Yeah? Tell me then, when _the fuck_ did I ever ask you to do these! Did I ever ask you to, _huh_ , did I! You decided what you thought was best for me because that’s how selfish you are!”

“Well, maybe you wouldn’t think of it that way if you weren’t such a clingy baby who needs attention twenty-four-seven!”

Soon after, there is a slap, another crash, and a bang of the door. Then, both rooms fall into a cold silence.

The tensed air from next-door seems to ooze out of the ventilation and flood her room. Yachi can feel each thump of her heart, getting louder and louder as she creeps towards the front door. When she cocks her head outside, she sees Atsumu leaning on his own door frame with one hand rubbing his reddened left cheek.

Atsumu notices her appearance by the creak of her door. “Yacchan,” he says, slightly surprised. _Yacchan_ , Yachi’s mind echoes.

“Uh, is everything okay, _like_ , a-are you okay?” she asks tentatively, somewhat too concerned than she intends to.

Atsumu chuckles, probably at how upset Yachi appears to be. _God,_ his smile is dazzling. He probably could say he’s an abductor and yet you would still follow him into his car when he said he had a cute kitten in the backseat. Yachi would be the first victim on the list. She’s weak towards beautiful people, not to mention kittens. Oh, thank god, he’s not an abductor and he doesn’t own cats.

“Don’t sweat it. It happens often,” he tells her, his voice calm and indifferent, but she recognizes his words as a lie.

It was the first time Yachi heard an argument _that_ heated since she moved here four months prior. Trivial quarrel, sure, a lot of trivial quarrels especially between him and his band members. However, trivial quarrels are the ones without screaming and throwing stuff and slapping involved.

“It’s just, ya know, a normal couple fight. Sorry for the ruckus,” Atsumu adds because Yachi doesn’t respond and the scowl on her face hasn’t yet to melt away.

Yachi steals a glance at the bruise on his cheek. “Will you guys be all right?”

Atsumu casts a vacant gaze down the corridor towards the lift. He shrugs his shoulders and mutters something, too soft for Yachi to hear. When he shifts back to her, he presents another stunning smile.

“We will be fine,” he says.

Tonight, he makes a lot of mistakes in his guitar session.

*

Here’s a list of Atsumu’s top five favorite songs:

  1. Mardy Bum – Arctic Monkey
  2. Let’s Dance to Joy Division – The Wombats
  3. Ain’t No Rest for The Wicked – Cage the Elephant
  4. Sweet Disposition – The Temper Trap
  5. Teenagers – My Chemical Romance



However, here’s a list of the songs Atsumu plays for the rest of the week after the incident:

  1. Somebody Else – The 1975
  2. Love Will Tear Us Apart – Joy Division
  3. Since You’ve Been Gone – Rainbow
  4. Asleep – The Smiths
  5. Yachi stops asking Siri because the songs are becoming sadder and sadder.



And it seems that tonight, he’s at the peak of devastation.

He started his guitar session at midnight, a bit later than usual. It’s now two in the morning and since the beginning, he’s been playing the same song for two hours straight.

At first, Yachi thought he’s practicing because a similar thing happened about two months ago, when Atsumu couldn’t stop playing Afterlife by Avenged Sevenfold. However, that time, Yachi figured it was a song his band would perform at some kind of gig. That’s why Yachi let the problem slide.

However, she later realizes that it isn’t the same case. He plays this certain song _perfectly_ – the strum, the tempo, the _emotion_. Just like in the anime. Yes, anime. Yachi recognizes this certain song because it’s from an anime. To be exact, a sorrowful theme song from a famous BL anime.

One word to describe the song: distress; and he’s been playing this song _on repeat_ for 120 minutes while the song itself lasts for three and half minutes, tops. Is Yachi bothered? Absolutely.

It would be better if Atsumu picked some foreign songs. Anything’s fine except for this one – Winter’s Story, composed by Centimillimental and ‘performed’ by Given, which Yachi _does_ remember every word in its lyrics. Even if Atsumu only plays the music with his guitar, inside Yachi’s head, she can’t help but sing along, for two _goddamn_ hours.

After some more consideration, Yachi eventually decides that it’s time to knock on his door.

*

“Yacchan?” is the first word Atsumu says when he comes out of his room and finds Yachi at his doorstep. He’s dressed in loungewear and his guitar hangs over his shoulder by a leather strap.

Gorgeous, as always. _God,_ his appearance is distracting. Yachi takes a moment to draw in a deep breath. Mostly to gather up courage, also not to lose her focus. She brings her face up and looks at Atsumu in the eyes.

“Atsumu-kun,” she begins, tightening her grip on the blanket she’s wrapped her body with. “Can you please turn down a little, you’re too-“

Her words trail off the moment her vision adapts to the dim light of the corridor.

“Are you _wasted_?” Her question burst out like blood out of a cut.

Atsumu scrunches up his face. “Whaddya mean _wasted_? ’M not wasted,” he denies, shaking his head as he runs a hand through his flushed face – completely flushed face. His nose is as red as a clown’s and his eyes bloodshot.

“Could it be that you’re ston–“

“I’m drug free, Yacchan. Swear I’m my momma’s best boy.”

Curiosity and doubt seem to win over her. Impulsively, Yachi stands on her tiptoes and draws her face closer to his. “Have you–“ She manages to note how puffed up his eyelids are. “Have you been crying?”

Atsumu immediately steps back and averts his face.

“H-How long have you been – Have you been crying for _two hours_?”

“I haven’t! I mean, I’m not cryin’!”

“That’s some serious swelling you have there!”

“This is just hay fever! I’m allergic to grass, Yacchan!”

“You’re having pollen allergy? In August? What are you allergic to – rice?!”

“No – I mean, yes! Yes, maybe!”

“But I thought you came from Hyogo?!”

“I am! But–“ He wipes his nose with the sleeve of his sweater. “Maybe, maybe this ain’t pollen – I mean, it _could_ be but – screw it, Yacchan, I don’t _freakin’_ know!”

Yachi’s original resolution is to pay less heed to him. He’s no more than a next-door neighbor, and what he does is none of her concern. It’s best for Yachi to stay away as far as possible from his private matter, to _not_ get herself involved.

Nevertheless, when you live one wall apart, it’s hard to ignore things.

“Say, Atsumu-kun do you, maybe–” Yachi licks her bottom lips before continuing, “do you maybe want to _talk_?”

“Talk?” Her wording seems to confuse him a little. “Waddya mean talk?”

“Anything in your mind, really. In my experience, if something weighs your mind, it’s better to let it all pour out. Thinking out loud helps you calm down, you know.”

Atsumu doesn’t appear to be convinced enough, so Yachi explains further, “Whenever things terrify me, I will say it out loud like _‘oh my gosh, what should I do! I’m scared! My heart’s gonna stop!’_. If you’re not comfortable talking alone, then I’m willing to listen. Unless–“

“Unless?”

Yachi curls her lips and shrugs her shoulders. “Unless nothing is going on and you _actually_ are allergic to rice. Then, just turn your guitar’s volume down a little.”

Atsumu is clearly stunned, not expecting his neighbor will knock on his door at two a.m. and volunteers herself to be a therapist of the night. He scratches the back of his neck, humming lowly as he considers. When he redirects his gaze toward her, he sends her a smile, but not the gorgeous ones. An evident, absolutely exhausted smile. Pity on a beautiful face.

“I would lose all sense of identity if I was actually allergic to rice.”

Yachi smiles weakly at him. “Might as well become an Irish if you could only eat bread.”

*

“We broke up.” is the starting sentence of Atsumu’s story. Placing the previous fight into the account, it isn’t an unthought cause. What astounds Yachi is how Atsumu reacts to it. If someone was to judge him merely based on his cover, they would easily regard him as a typical heartbreaker who surfed upon casual relationships, where hookups and breakups are the same as breathing.

Yachi has settled herself on the couch while Atsumu himself sits cross-legged on the carpet, his fingers picking on the strings of his unplugged guitar, letting out a high-pitched chime as a pale imitation of lousy acoustic. Part of her secretly wishes he would play _Sweet Disposition_. It’s on his top five favorite songs. It’s been on hers too for the last four months.

“–haven’t been there for them. I mean, _sure_ , I might have been _a little bit_ too busy with the band lately. But I have my reasons, y’know. Like, the fact that we’ve been invited to more shows ‘n stuff, and that we been workin’ on a new project, y’know–”

It’s relatively hard to grasp what he’s saying now that he’s ranting fast in dialect. Incidentally, the way he speaks is somehow soothing, probably because of his throaty voice. Yachi wonders if he holds the position of a vocalist too. She has never overheard him singing, yet she’s rather positive Atsumu is a pleasant singer.

Atsumu suddenly stops picking on his guitar and shifts his gaze towards her. His eyebrows are knitted into a furrow. Yachi jolts in her seat and sits up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear nervously. She thinks Atsumu will check whether she’s paying attention, but what leaves his mouth is: “Have ya ever had a bad breakup too, Yacchan?”

“E-eh, me? Uh, _um,”_ Yachi splutters, not expecting to be questioned. She scowls at empty spaces as she tries to recall her past relationships. Not much of experience, she’ll say, nothing compared to him. “I don’t know what’s considered as a _bad breakup_ ,” she admits. “I think, my breakups are like, general breakups if that even makes sense.”

“What the heck is _general_ breakup,” Atsumu laughs quietly. Yachi feels her cheeks heating up and she isn’t sure whether the trigger is her stupid wording or his laugh. Atsumu begins to strum on his guitar again as he asks, “When you guys broke up, were you sad?”

Yachi wonders if it’s a trick question. “Shouldn’t it be obvious?” she carefully asks back. “Aren’t you sad right now?”

“Honestly?” Atsumu pauses, leaning back to the plinth base of the couch. “I somehow feel relieved.”

The confession hits Yachi like a truck. She gapes at him in silence for what seems like forever. “So, it was toxic?” she mutters, too low for Atsumu to catch, yet she’s glad he didn’t. “Why were you crying, then?” She makes sure he hears it this time. “And does it have something to do with _Winter’s Story_?”

Atsumu stares vacantly at the ceiling before replying with an absentminded shrug. He reaches out for his laptop on the coffee-table and turns it around for Yachi to check the screen, which displays Netflix’s homepage with _Given_ listed on the _recently watched_ line.

“I was confused about my feelings. Like, how could I be annoyed and _relieved_ at the same time – it’s complicated. And so, I remembered this anime our vocalist been watchin’ and decided to watch it for distraction, but for god’s sake–” He throws his head back and wipes his face with both of his hands. “They ain’t tellin’ me nothin’ ‘bout how _deadass_ depressing the plot would be, what the _heck_ – my head ended up exploding like a goddamn _freakin’_ volcano!”

_So, you were really crying._ “And afterward you decided that it would be a _very_ good idea to play _Winter’s Story_ for two whole hours starting from midnight?”

“A nice way to let my emotion out.”

Yachi accidentally inhales an ugly snort at his answer. She hurriedly covers her mouth and turns aside to hide her giggle, though it doesn’t help much.

“Oh c’mon! Don’t tell me ya didn’t cry when yer watched it the first time!” Atsumu snaps as he points a finger at Yachi, which prompts her laugh even more.

Don’t get Yachi wrong, she has nothing to hold against gay anime. It’s simply because of the mental image of Miya Atsumu – a prodigy guitarist who has a bunch of women swooning blindly over him – is violently clashing with the _real Miya_ Atsumu in front of her eyes right now – a simple guy who’s _confused_ about his feelings and decided to go to Netflix to watch anime _for distraction_ , but then the anime turned out to be _depressing_ and had an emotional breakdown throughout the night.

“More importantly–” Yachi coughs a few times to settle her laughing fit and form a proper sentence. “It’s definitely a good sign that you feel relieved after your breakup. It’s nothing to be confused of. I’m sure you will be alright. In fact, I believe everything will be _better_.”

“Well, I certainly am feeling a lot of better after this spontaneous late-night talk with my next-door neighbor,” he says, flashing a toothy grin at her. “Thanks for listening, Yacchan.”

Yachi laughs again. “We’re just one wall apart. If you need anything, I’m just a knock away.”

It’s almost three in the morning now. Dawn will break at five and Yachi has a client to meet at eight-thirty. The wisest choice is to excuse herself right this moment and walk back to her own bed in her own room. Yet, the wisest choice doesn’t sound appealing to her, especially after Atsumu asks: “Are ya good at singing, Yacchan?”

Before Yachi can respond, Atsumu rises from the ground and plugs his guitar’s chord into the amplifier. He strums the strings of his guitar and a sonorous sound escapes the speaker; a clear and much richer sound compared to the blunt noise she usually overhears in her room.

“Since yer here, might as well relieve yer stress with me,” Atsumu says as he spins to face her. “Does _milady_ have any request–”

“Sweet disposition!” Yachi blurts. Later, she adds, “Please!”

“ _Temper Trap_? You’ve got some serious taste, Yacchan, I thought you’d request _Arashi_ or something.”

Yachi’s current playlist is about eighty-percent listed with songs from westerner band because of Atsumu’s daily guitar session. To be honest, there’s this one time when Yachi wondered if she searched up Atsumu’s songs on google because she’s curious about its band or she’s interested in Atsumu himself – but don’t tell Atsumu that.

*

**Author's Note:**

> Sweet Disposition is a song from my childhood and will be my all-time favorite song. You don't know The Temper Trap? Go listen to it on Youtube, oh my god where have you been.
> 
> Soo, if you have some thoughts/questions about this story, definitely leave it down in the comment section! Or, hit me up on twitter @kumachan_0201. I haven't been writing much lately (yeah, law school), so this is sort of a change of pace in the middle of the chaos.
> 
> Thank you for reading up to this point!! Be sure to wash your hand and keep the physical distance at least six feet apart, and remember: the pandemic isn't over just because you're over it!
> 
> \- tami


End file.
